


Sailors and Seashells

by Izzyfandoms



Series: Clouds and Moss AU [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A ton of background pirates die but they lowkey deserve it so it's chill, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Background Character Death, Blood, Death, Gen, Pirates, Sea God Virgil Sanders, Uhhhh except I used the name Pan instead of Andy, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23283145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzyfandoms/pseuds/Izzyfandoms
Summary: The sea was something to be respected.It was something to be feared, too, especially by those who angered the god, but, above all, it was to be respected. It was a living, moving entity, far beyond mortal comprehension, only occasionally taking the form of a man to walk the shorelines and talk with the sky. He was no less dangerous in this form than in any other.Everybody knew this.Or, at least, Pan had thought that everybody knew this. It turned out that some people were remarkably ignorant, and didn’t realise that insulting Virgil, the almighty god of the sea, while on a boat, of all things, was a monumentally stupid idea.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Thomas Sanders Shorts Anxiety Character | Andy Sanders
Series: Clouds and Moss AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584703
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	Sailors and Seashells

**Author's Note:**

> I have called Sanders Shorts Anxiety "Pan" in this, and this oneshot is in third person, but based around his perspective.

The sea was something to be respected. 

It was something to be feared, too, especially by those who angered the god, but, above all, it was to be respected. It was a living, moving entity, far beyond mortal comprehension, only occasionally taking the form of a man to walk the shorelines and talk with the sky. He was no less dangerous in this form than in any other. 

Everybody knew this. 

Or, at least, Pan had _thought_ that everybody knew this. It turned out that some people were remarkably ignorant, and didn’t realise that insulting Virgil, the almighty god of the sea, while on a _boat,_ of all things, was a monumentally stupid idea. 

So much so, that when Pan’s captors had begun to do this, the first emotion that settled in his chest was incredulity. 

And then fear. 

A pure, horrible fear, that made his stomach swirl and his breath stutter, because while Virgil wasn’t exactly known for harming the innocent, his usual response to being disrespected so blatantly was to snatch up the culprits and drag them down into the seemingly-bottomless abyss that was his domain, never to be seen again. (An overreaction, in Pan’s opinion, but, hey, he wasn’t the god). And, though Pan was a pretty devout follower of Virgil, having become a sailor specifically to worship him, he was also currently on a ship with said culprits – sprawled out across the deck, his hands tied, a sword at his throat – so he figured that his chances of survival, right now, were pretty low. 

“Look at him,” A pirate mocked, swinging his leg and kicking Pan in the ribs. “He’s about to _cry_.” 

Pan would’ve come up with an absolutely _devastating_ response to that, really, he would have, but he was busy trying to remember how to breathe, and hoping that all of his bones were still in one piece, so he was just a bit preoccupied. 

“Are all followers of Virgil this weak and cowardly?” The pirate continued, gesturing to their numerous captives – members of Pan’s crew, some of whom he’d already begun to consider his friends, even family – and addressing his own crew with a grin. “Wonder what that says about the god, himself?” 

Pan exchanged a panicked look with a nearby woman. She was similarly tied up, her shirt torn, with a line of red down her cheek, dripping blood. They weren’t sure what scared them more: the pirates, or the possible wrath of a god. 

The latter, probably. 

“Which one of them should we kill first?” 

The captain’s sword wandered from captive to captive, barely scraping at their skin, but close enough that most flinched at the touch. He looked rather smug at that, grinning madly, especially as his crew began cheering him on. Then, suddenly, he stopped at Pan, his blade grazing the smaller man’s neck, and Pan just about felt his heart stop in his chest. 

Someone grabbed his arm, yanking him up and dragging him over to the side of the ship. Pan stumbled as a dirty hand clutched at his hair, forcing him to look over into the deep, dark water, face-to-face with his fate. 

“Where’s your god, now?” The pirate taunted. 

“I’m right here.” 

The grip on Pan disappeared, and he spun around, his eyes immediately landing on the new figure standing in the centre of the deck, his arms crossed. His skin was tinted purple, rippling like the waves of the sea, and his eyes were like infinite black abysses – almost emotionless, but tinged with irritation. 

Pan’s breath caught in his throat. 

Well, he supposed he’d be dying today, either way; he might as well go down in history as killed by an angry god – a warning to others who strayed down the same path – instead of dying forgotten at the hands of pirates. 

He closed his eyes. 

His ears instantly filled with the sounds of rushing water, and screams being ripped from unsuspecting throats. Pirates were being thrown off the ship, left and right, plunging into the water and never resurfacing, dragged down by slimy, violet tentacles. The lucky ones blacked out immediately; the unlucky were conscious as they were eaten alive by cave-like mouths of jagged teeth. 

Pan waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

Nothing happened. 

The noise quietened down: no more screaming, no more splashing, all that remained were the sounds of people mumbling, and the ship rocking beneath them. The ropes around Pan’s wrists turned ice-cold, tearing themselves apart, before falling to the deck with a quiet thump. 

Pan opened one eye, and then the other, looking around cautiously. 

The pirates were gone, dead. The only people still remaining on board the ship were Pan’s crew – now all untied, whispering amongst themselves and helping each other up. 

And Virgil. 

It was odd, to say the least, that he was still there. 

The sea god had moved to the other side of the ship, but was now still, staring into the swirling ocean, watching the waves crash and fall. His dark hair was adorned with white and purple seashells, unaffected by the wind, and his robes were as black as the deepest depths of the ocean. Pan was unsure whether he was supposed to keep watching out of respect, or look away and give him privacy. 

A few minutes passed, and soon all of the other humans had quietened down, too, all awkwardly watching Virgil. They exchanged confused looks with one another, but none dared speak up, fearing the consequences of disturbing him. 

The sea god didn’t notice at first, but, when he did, he looked almost surprised. 

“Oh, um...” Virgil shifted from one foot to the other, before straightening up, towering over them, his startled expression smoothing over. “Is anybody injured?” 

Some mumbled vague responses, though most just turned to Pan, which confused him. He wasn’t their captain, or even their first mate, but he supposed that Virgil did only arrive once Pan had been directly threatened, and the god’s motivations were still unknown, so perhaps this was the safest bet. 

“Uh,” Pan felt his face redden as Virgil’s gaze turned on him. “I think there are some- some minor injuries, but nothing life threatening... as far as I know.” 

Pan’s ribs ached, and his body was covered in scrapes and bruises – he was sure that his crew were all in similar conditions – but he wasn’t sure that that was serious enough for Virgil to care about. 

“Hm.” 

There was a beat. 

An invisible, icy-cold wave washed over Pan, and his whole body shivered. A layer of frost began coating his skin, pulling it back together, healing his wounds. It seeped through his flesh, into his bones, freezing them into a solid block of ice, and fixing them, too. 

He was unable to move, to react, to respond, like a frozen statue of ice. 

And then the feeling suddenly disappeared, and Pan was himself again. 

He gasped for breath, stumbling forward, only just catching himself before he could slip and fall to the deck. Nausea rose in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it quickly, unable to stand the thought of throwing up in front of a god. 

The other surrounding humans reacted similarly, yelping in surprise, some tripping over their own feet, others catching each other before they fell. 

Virgil watched them – a little confused, but mostly straight-faced. Then, he turned back to Pan, his stare like an anchor, weighing down the human’s soul, keeping him in place. He wasn’t sure if that was deliberate or not. 

“This ship is yours, now.” 

“What?” 

“This ship is yours, now,” Virgil repeated slowly, a little impatient. 

Pan blinked like a startled deer. He would’ve repeated the question once more, but was worried about angering the god, so, instead, his mouth snapped shut, and he nodded. 

Virgil seemed to approve of that, nodding, too, satisfied, pausing for another moment, before disappearing in a cloud of mist. 

That was followed by almost a full minute of heavy silence, and then one of the nearby sailors burst out laughing, bordering on hysteria. He was a giant of a man, with muscles the size of Pan’s head; it had taken four pirates to tie him down, and not without casualties. He strolled over to Pan, slapping him on the back – almost knocking him over – with a wide, genuine grin. 

“Well, you heard the god, this is your ship. What now, Captain?” 


End file.
